


Pianoman

by Spones-in-my-bones (KoruLunan)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoruLunan/pseuds/Spones-in-my-bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a replacement pianist signs on at "Gourmet Enterprises", everyone's excited about their new Vulcan coworker. That is, everyone except the bartender, Leonard McCoy. They don't exactly see eye-to-eye, never mind them getting off utterly on the wrong foot. Even if Spock is a good listener and fairly attractive, that doesn't mean McCoy is going to cut him any slack. </p><p>Incomplete. (Note: The way I write these characters has changed a lot since I started this fic, and now it's become awkward to continue writing them this way. I may rewrite this in the future, but I know I won't be continuing this specifically. I had written chapter 3 but never posted until now, since it was done back then, and chapter 4 and 5 are deleted scenes/excerpts. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed it!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Baby Grand Piano

“What? Gene left?”

“Yeah, while you were gone this weekend. It looks like his arthritis was getting to be too much.”

McCoy looked over at the piano that was opposite the bar where he and Jim sat.

“It doesn’t really help when you’re a pianist either,” Jim commented.

Sure, McCoy wasn’t best friends with Gene like he was with Jim, but they still got along well. “So we’re down a pianist? I guess we can deal without one. I’ll miss listening to the music while I work though.”

“You won’t have to miss it,” Jim replied.

“What?”

“Some guy came in when he heard we had an opening and applied. Pike said he’d be here later today.” Kirk finished off the water in his glass and stood up. “Anyways, you’d better hurry and get dressed. We open in ten.”

“Did you see what he looked like?" McCoy asked as Jim headed toward the kitchen doors at the end of the bar.

Jim paused. “Uh, he was pretty tall, with black hair. Oh, and he’s Vulcan.”

“A Vulcan? Working at our restaurant as a pianist?”

“Hey, crazier things have happened.”

Crazier things have indeed happened, but McCoy still wondered what a Vulcan was doing working at a restaurant. Most of the Vulcans on Earth were either working at some sort of science and academic institution or at Starfleet, so why would one work here? As a pianist, no less? It was the least paying job they had available. But McCoy decided to shrug it off for now. Perhaps he could ask the Vulcan when he arrived. He went through the kitchen, greeting Scotty when he passed by the said jubilant chef and headed for the office. He saw Uhura and Chapel talking in the corner by the freezer and walk-in fridge, probably sharing the latest gossip like they always do. McCoy knocked on the office door and then checked the handle. Locked. He saw Chekov and Sulu up front earlier, so that left only one person who could be in the office.

The door clicked and swung open to reveal a tall salt-and-pepper haired man in a black dress shirt, donning a bright yellow bow tie. “Just in time, Leonard,” he greeted. “How was your weekend off?”  
“Not bad.” McCoy hung up his shoulderbag on the rack that hung on the opposite wall. The office wasn’t too small: it held a desk with clear view of the open door, a few filing cabinets, and a small wooden table with four chairs in the back. “I spent time with Joanna and did some work. It was relaxing.”

“How’s she doing?” Pike asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror that hung on the back of the door.  
McCoy unpacked his uniform and placed it on the table. “She’s doing well. She’s getting straight-A’s right now, which is amazing. I swear she’ll be graduating college before she reaches her teens.” McCoy chuckled as he took off his coat, hanging it on the hook above his bag.  
“Glad to hear it, and if she needs any recommendation letters, let me know,” Pike said nudged McCoy as he left the room.

Rolling his eyes, McCoy locked the door to the office, allowing him to change in peace. He put on his white button-up dress shirt, then a black vest and dress pants. A black elastic armband followed around his each of his upper arms, and he topped it all off with a blue bow tie and handkerchief. He was not a man that cared too much about dressing up, but he had to admit that these clothes did suit him well. McCoy packed his clothes away in his bag and straightened his uniform in the mirror before exiting the office.

“Hello, meester Makkoi.”

McCoy looked over to the corner where Uhura, Chapel and now Chekov, a short brown haired teen stood. They were all dressed in the same attire McCoy was, save for the differences in the colors of their bow ties and handkerchiefs. Chapel donned a darker shade of blue than McCoy, while Uhura chose red and Chekov wore yellow. There was no meaning to the colors other than that when a person was hired, they could choose whichever they liked the best and that’s what they’re stuck with. “Afternoon, Chekov,” McCoy replied with a nod to Uhura and Chapel. “Catching up on all the gossip?”

Uhura crossed her arms and feigned disappointment. “McCoy, I am appalled! You know that we don’t gossip with other people around.”

McCoy chuckled. “Right, right. My bad.”

“We were just talking to Mr. Chekov about a date he has tomorrow.”

“A date?” McCoy inquired. “I’ll save you the embarrassment of telling me who the lucky gal is and just wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Meester Makkoi,” Chekov said as he attempted to sneak away, only to barricaded by the two women. 

“Not so fast, Chekov,” prodded Chapel with a grin. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us all about this girl.”

McCoy simply rolled his eyes at his co-workers’ behavior and walked up to the head chef.  
“Scotty! Can I get you anything before we open?” McCoy asked as he watched his friend take a sheet of fresh rolls out of the oven and place them on the counter.

“Thanks, laddie, but I’ve got my drink already.” Scotty pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the tall glass of ice water that sat on the counter behind him.

McCoy nodded as he exited the kitchen and took an immediate left which brought him to the bar. His bar. He picked up the drinks from earlier and placed them in the sink behind him. He caught sight of the old baby grand piano that sat on the small stage. It was getting old now - had to be 25 years at least. He absently wondered who the new pianist was going to be if he was hired. McCoy went back to cleaning his station and, once that was done, walked up to the front desk to get a spare notepad. 

Upon grabbing it from under the front desk, he heard a knock coming from outside the front door. Through the glass he could see a tall, fair-skinned man in a grey turtleneck. It had to be at least 80 degrees outside. How could he stand wearing that? McCoy looked up at the clock. They didn’t open for another minute or so, but customers were customers, no matter what the time. McCoy unlocked the door and let the stranger in, waiting until he was fully inside. He looked back at the front desk and noticed that Sulu hadn’t arrived yet. McCoy could cover for him for a few minutes.

“Welcome, sir,” McCoy greeted politely as he stepped around the front desk and gave a slight smile. McCoy didn’t smile often to customers, and either they were too drunk to care or honestly didn’t care at all if he did. Anyway, he always thought that smiling was for the waiters. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll seat you and send your server out for you.” 

The man followed McCoy and sat down at a table near the piano. McCoy placed the lunch menu on the table and gave the man a nod, about to get Uhura to wait on him.

“What is the state of your piano?” asked the man before McCoy could leave.

McCoy looked over at the white baby grand and shrugged. “She’s a bit old, but plays like a beauty.”

“She?” asked the man, apparently confused at the genderization of a piano.

“Oh, uh-it plays like a beauty.”

The man gestured to the piano then. “May I?” 

McCoy blinked twice. “Sure, I suppose.”

The man walked over to the piano and opened the top, looking inside.

“Hey! Be careful with it!” McCoy said seriously. He couldn’t have the piano breaking before the new pianist even got here.

“It is indeed in good condition,” the man stated as he shut the lid. He pulled the bench out and sat down before lifting up the cover. He played each key swiftly, carefully checking every sound.  
“Alright, sir, I think that’s enou-”

McCoy was cut off as the man proceeded to play a song on the piano that McCoy identified as Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He watched in partial shock as the man’s slender fingers slid gracefully from one key to another, careful not to damage the piano in his movements. The sound that came out was clear and beautiful, resonating through the restaurant with a soft yet great strength. A minute later the man switched to a piece McCoy was unfamiliar with, one that was much quieter and more peaceful. After a minute passed, Chekov, Chapel, Sulu, and Uhura joined McCoy to watch the man play.

“I know this,” Chapel murmured. “This is Schubert by William Kapell. In A-minor.” McCoy nodded in acknowledgement, still enraptured by the music.

The man continued to play until he was interrupted by a single loud applause.

“That’s some skill you have there, Mr. Spock.” McCoy turned to see Pike standing behind them, clapping graciously.

“You know him?” McCoy inquired as Pike approached the stranger.

“Yes. Mr. Spock here is the applicant for the pianist position I told Kirk about. Kirk informed me that he told you, so I assumed you knew he would be here as well.”

“Yes, well, he did tell me about him,” McCoy said, now noticing Spock’s pointed ears and oddly unfriendly eyebrows. Vulcan. He had treated their new potential pianist like a customer. This guy - what was his name? Spock? He didn’t even speak up or anything. He just let McCoy embarrass himself like that.

“Well, I think you’re just the talent for the job, Mr. Spock. That is, depending on how you play tonight.” Mr. Spock nodded and McCoy’s co-workers strode up to greet him.

“Mr. Spock, was it? I’m Christine Chapel, the barmaid here. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
“You were correct, Ms. Chapel.”

“I’m sorry?” Chapel said.

“You correctly identified the song as Schubert by William Kapell, though it was in A flat and not A-Minor.”

“O-oh. Thank you,” Chapel stammered as her face turned slightly pink.

“He seems pretty popular, huh?” Kirk commented from beside McCoy.

“A real charmer.” McCoy said sarcastically.

“What’s got your trousers in a bunch?” Kirk asked with a friendly slap on McCoy’s back.

“Nothing,” McCoy huffed, still thinking back to a mere few moments ago when he treated the guy as a customer. Everything seemed to have him on edge today. First the talk with Pike and then this new guy comes in. McCoy wished he could just get to his bar now.

“McCoy!” Pike called, snapping McCoy from his thoughts. “Take Mr. Spock to the office to get his uniform and then show him the ropes. Chapel will cover for you until you’re done.” Chapel nodded, though she looked slightly despondent at the request.

Looking from Pike to Mr. Spock, McCoy gave the tall Vulcan a once-over. “Alright, come with me.” McCoy hesitated then led the way through the maze of tables to the kitchen doors. They went by the bar, through the wide kitchen doors, and past various beverage replicators and cloth-lined baskets filled with bread. McCoy led Spock to an open well-lit room with three long metallic islands and counters In the center of the three islands stood a man in a white chef’s uniform with bright red accents. 

“Scotty,” McCoy began as Spock followed him to where the chef stood, slicing tomatoes for the salads. “This is Mr. Spock. He’s a potential pianist for us, depending on how he fares tonight. Spock, this is Mr. Scott, our head chef.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spock,” Scotty said as he slid the slices of tomatoes off the cutting board and into the salad bowl. “I apologize if I seem improper, but I have to make a lot of salads before our two-thirty rush.”

Spock gave Scotty a nod in greeting before he and McCoy continued to the office that was opposite the entrance of the nook they originated from. He walked to a stack of boxes in the back and pulled out a pair of black pants, a black vest, and a white button-up shirt.  
McCoy looked from the tags of the uniform and back to Spock a few times, mentally sizing him up. “Alright, these may be a bit small on you, but you’ll have to bear with it until we can get your sizes and order you a custom one, should you start working here.” 

He peered down at Spock’s grey shoes and continued. “You’ll have to buy some black non-slip shoes, but what you have will be fine for tonight.” He then picked up a slightly smaller box and placed it on the table beside the set of clothes. “We have three different colored bow ties and handkerchiefs here. Choose whichever you like, and just hang your clothes up on the coat hangers in the back.” 

McCoy paused to make sure he didn’t miss anything then nodded. “Come out when you’re done, and then we’ll get your tour done so you can start.” McCoy shut the door behind him as he exited and let out a frustrated sigh. He may not have liked the guy so far, but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing his job and doing it well.

“Enjoying yourself, McCoy?” Chapel asked as she walked up to him.

McCoy took a step away from the door and looked over at her, glaring slightly. “You call taking a newbie through the ropes ‘fun’?”

“Well-” Chapel began.

“She does if it’s Mr. Spock, am I right?” Uhura interjected in a whisper when she approached them.

“What? No, I-”

“Oh, come on. I saw how your cheeks practically lit up like red balloons when he talked to you a few minutes ago.”

Chapel’s face reddened further, proving Uhura’s point. “I don’t even know Mr. Spo-”

“Careful,” Uhura hushed as she gestured to the office door. “He could hear you.”

McCoy rolled his eyes at the both of them. “You two think you could tone it down even more so I don’t have to hear you either?” 

With a small ‘click’, the office door opened to reveal a finely-dressed Mr. Spock. Though the uniform’s fit was snug around his waist and upper arms, the vest and pants seemed to fit nicely around his frame. McCoy could feel a bit of blood rush to his face at the look of the new pianist. What McCoy thought earlier was right, of course. Not just anyone could pull off these uniforms well, but Spock seemed to have it down to a T. Save for the fact that he was missing his colored accents.

“Where is your bow tie and handkerchief?” McCoy spoke quickly to break the few seconds of stunned silence. “You were supposed to pick them out.”

Spock unveiled the blue bow tie and handkerchief that sat in his left hand.

“Well, hurry up and put it on so we can get your tour done,” McCoy said with a huff. Why didn’t Spock just do it before he came out?

“I am afraid I am unfamiliar with this type of knot.”

Oh. McCoy could see Chapel was about to speak up when Kirk called to her from the entrance to the kitchen. “Chapel! You better get a move on, you have customers coming in!” She made an expression of disapproval at McCoy as she left, which he pointedly ignored. McCoy undid his bowtie and hung it around his neck, gripping both ends of it.

“Okay, I want you to do what I do.” When Spock readied his own bow tie and nodded, McCoy continued. “You cross both ends over one another and then you tuck the one in your right hand under the one in your left hand. Then you fold the other end like so... and then fold it over the other one. Finally you pass that end behind the other one and then through the loop. Then tighten it.”  
McCoy looked at Spock’s bowtie, which was hardly close to what it should look like. How could Spock not understand after he just demonstrated it? Weren't his instructions clear?

“Alright, give it here,” McCoy said as he approached Spock, undoing the Vulcan's bow tie and holding an end in each hand. “Watch as I do it so you can do it yourself next time.” He performed the correct way to tie a bow tie, the ins and outs of it all, as Spock scrutinized each of his hand movements. Finally with a tight pull at both bow ends that may or may not have been purposely too tight, McCoy finished and looked up at Spock, who met his eyes.

“Thank you.” Spock stated, not breaking the eye contact.

McCoy just then realized exactly how close they were, a mere few inches separating their faces. He cleared his throat as he looked down at his watch as an excuse to look away. “Yeah, well, be sure to get it right next time.” 

McCoy took a step back and looked down at the unfolded handkerchief in Spock’s hand. McCoy took a step back and looked down at the unfolded handkerchief in Spock’s hand. “Alright, the same goes for this handkerchief,” he said as he took it from Spock. McCoy walked past Spock and over to the office desk, where he flattened out the handkerchief on its surface. 

“We all have different folds for our handkerchief depending on where we’re stationed at the time. For example, I’m the bartender, and my fold is a winged fold. Uhura is a waitress, and thus has a two-point fold, and Chapel switches between waitress and barmaid, so she uses both folds depending on where she is working.” 

McCoy picked the handkerchief up from the very center and gripped just under that hold with his other hand. “You, Mr. Spock, are the pianist, so your fold is a puff-pocket fold.” He slid his left hand down to the bottom of the handkerchief, gripping it tight at the bottom. Proceeding that, McCoy pointed his left thumb upwards and wrapped the tip of the cloth over it, then gripping the tip with his right hand and flipping it upside down to show the completed fold. He then stuck in inside of Spock’s chest pocket and adjusted it a little. “There. Now you’re ready for work.”

Spock gave a nod of gratitude and McCoy looked around the room trying to avoid another round of awkward eye contact before turning and walking out of the office. Right outside he noticed Uhura leaning against the wall, grinning mischievously. “What’s your problem?” McCoy asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Uhura passed McCoy as Spock shut the office door.

It was definitely something, McCoy thought. “Well, tell your ‘nothing’ that it’s going to scare away customers with that creepy smile.”

“Will do, McCoy,” Uhura assured him as she walked to the dining room with the same grin. What was with her today?

“Alright,” McCoy said, clapping his hands together and shaking off his previous thoughts. “I guess I better start the tour then.” McCoy spent the next few minutes showing Spock the all the functions of the restaurant, from the walk-in freezers and emergency exits to the various food and cleaning stations that kept the restaurant up and running. The tour ended at the front of the restaurant. 

“This is the front desk, where the cash register, coat racks, and menus are located. Sulu and Chekov work here mostly. Right?” McCoy said as he looked to Sulu.

“Sure do,” Sulu said to Spock. “Though we hardly even see McCoy since he’s cooped up in his bar all the time.” 

McCoy muttered, “I see enough of you on break.” Now, where else was there to show? Oh, of course. One last place.

“I would like to inquire upon something,” Spock stated.

“One moment,” McCoy said as he turned around and walked in between tables to the stage. “Here, of course, is where you’ll be working.” McCoy gestured to the white baby grand piano that faced the front of the restaurant. “Now, what’s your question?”

“I’ve observed that you refer to each other by one name, though your name tags read another.”  
“Well practically everyone here prefers to be called by their last name by other staff members, and by their first by the customers. It’s sort of a flipped informality. Most of us don’t care which you call us by.” McCoy’s eyes followed Spock as he sat at the piano. “So, is Spock your first or last name?”

“The former. My surname is unpronounceable to humans.”

“So I guess we’ll be sticking with ‘Mr. Spock’ then, unless you have anything else that you go by.”

“I do not.”

“Great. There you go, then,” McCoy said, looking around at the few customers in the restaurant. 

“Well, I guess you can start now. Did you bring any sheet music?”

“I did not.”

“What?” McCoy said as he looked to Spock, dumbfounded. How was this guy expecting to get this job if he didn’t even have any music with him?

“I have fifty-three separate classical pieces memorized on the piano. I intend to play them tonight.”

McCoy paused and stared in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you can play fifty-three full pieces of music purely from memory?”

“Is that not what I just stated?”

McCoy gave the new pianist a slight glare at the phrase.

“Need I to repeat myself?”

“No, Mr. Spock, you needn’t,” McCoy replied, annoyance lining his voice. With that, he walked back to his bar in a huff.

“Everything alright, Leonard?” Chapel asked, noticing McCoy's frustration setting in earlier than usual.

“Everything will be peachy once the night’s over and that green-blooded hobgoblin goes home,” McCoy muttered under his breath as he grabbed a towel and began to clean the counters. First Spock let McCoy embarrass himself by treating him as a customer, and then gets snarky with him after he took the time to give him a tour? He was beginning to dislike Spock quite a bit, and twenty minutes had hardly passed.

“You know, getting worked up this early into your shift is bad for your health.”

McCoy turned to see a tall, dark-skinned man sit at one of the two stools at the end of the bar. “Are you aware that being smart with me is just as dangerous?” 

A second later, McCoy cracked a smile and walked over to greet his friend with a hearty handshake. “Jabilo M’Benga. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other in person?” McCoy took out a bottle of what he knew to be his friend’s favorite drink and a small glass.

“Water, please. And it’s only been about a year or so,” M’Benga said, looking around at the Bar section of the restaurant McCoy worked in. “I remember your first day here about that time.” He looked to his friend and gave him a once-over with his eyes. “The bar looks great, but I wish I could say the same for you.”

“Careful, Jab,” McCoy said, taking the small glass of water from his friend. “Remember I control the drinks around here now.”

“Have I told you how great that uniform makes you look?”

“But without it, I’m boring blah blah blah. Don’t think I don’t know what you were going to say next.” McCoy held onto the glass and looked to his friend, who was doing a very poor imitation of what’s known as ‘Jim Kirk’s specialty puppy dog eyes’. ”I’ll give you a point for effort, even though your presentation needs work,” McCoy said, handing back the glass to his friend, who immediately lit up again. 

McCoy chuckled at Jab’s goofy smile while more and more people started to flow into the restaurant. Most of the customers sat by the piano, enjoying Spock’s music. It took McCoy a few seconds to realize that he was slowly tapping his foot to the piano’s song. He frowned slightly and looked at Spock in one of two mirrors that served as a backing to the bar’s shelves.

“So,” M’Benga began, noticing his friend’s frown. “What’s been eating you today?”

“Just a newbie we have getting on my nerves,” McCoy said as he refilled his friend’s glass.  
“Really? Who?” M’Benga asked as he looked around the restaurant.

“The Vulcan concert pianist over there,” McCoy said, his eyes flicking towards the piano.  
“What?” M’Benga spoke in disbelief. He strained to look at the tall, dark-haired Vulcan playing the piano. He turned back to McCoy and spoke in a semi-hushed tone, “Why would a Vulcan work here? All the Vulcans I know of on Earth are either working at science facilities or with Starfleet.”  
“That’s what I thought too, but still, here he is.”

“And he’s quite the pianist as well,” M’Benga commented, now listening as well as watching from afar as the Vulcan’s fingers moved gracefully across the baby grand’s keyboard.

“Yeah, but we’ll see how he does in the rush tonight,” McCoy said, trying not to sound too critical.  
“I guess so.”

“So,” McCoy began after he filled out another customer’s drink order. “What brings you here tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve actually been here since this weekend, while you were away.” M’Benga took a drink of the ice water in front of him. “The bar was a mess without you, but I took care of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Pike offered me my old job here as a bartender-waiter hybrid. You know, the same as Christine.”

McCoy blinked. “Are you serious?"

"Completely. I'm transferring here from UMMSM* to UCSF**, the same place you’re going."

"You know, you should really mention these things earlier."

M'Benga laughed. "Yeah, I really need to break that habit."

"So now I'm going to have to deal with you not only here, but in my classes as well?” McCoy joked.

“Yup. Looks like you got the short end of the stick.”

McCoy sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to deal with it.”

“Alright, I’m going to go get ready.” M’Benga finished off his glass of water and grabbed his coat from the stool next to his. “See you in a few.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
After M’Benga started, business picked up for the two-thirty rush, even though the bar remained unpopular until about four o’clock. When not serving his few customers at the bar, McCoy helped the servers out by bringing out trays of food to the tables. As soon as happy hour hit, McCoy was up to his bow tie in customers. This was when he counted on the help of the pianist the most to play tranquil songs that kept both him and his customers calm. Of course, he had forgotten to tell Spock that. McCoy should have known to tell him. It’s not like Spock could read minds or anything.

The first twenty minutes of happy hour were calm enough, but then became more and more agitated as time passed. McCoy handled the bar well, as was his job and what he had been trained to do, but when Spock played very fast-tempo songs, he got an expression on his face that was not of the best nature. He was quieter as well, only speaking to take drink orders and bark orders at M’Benga and Chapel. McCoy thinks that Spock must have picked up on how the music was affecting the customers, seeing how he played much calmer and quieter songs as the night passed on.

The bar got quiet around six, only to pick up again an hour later with the dinner orders. At one time, after he filled all the orders he had then, he was called over to a table to answer a few questions about the alcohol. McCoy was in charge of all of the alcoholic drinks in the restaurant, so the act of him going to tables and answering questions was not uncommon, though he didn’t really care to leave his bar when there were heavy drinkers sitting there. You can never predict every single action of a heavily drunk person, after all. McCoy knew that from experience.  
“How are you holding up?” M’Benga asked, joining McCoy behind the bar’s counter with a stack of clean glasses.

McCoy gave him a shrug. “No real trouble, yet.” 

“That’s good.” M’Benga began putting away the glasses on the wooden shelves. “They’re still quiet on most nights, aren’t they?”

In a single swift movement, McCoy picked up a bottle of whiskey and refilled the shot glasses of three of his customers that sat at the bar. “Yeah, but it’s also the end of October, meaning more people will be here for Thanksgiving soon enough.”

“Well, let’s take it one day at a time.” As he added the last glass to the shelf, M’Benga took the chain that hung folded on one side of the shelves and stretched it to the opposite side, to protect the glasses in case of an earthquake. “For instance, we close in five minutes and there hasn’t been a single excessive disturbance all night. I’d call that a record.”

“Almost had one, though, at the beginning of Happy Hour.” He grumbled before M’Benga, who simply shrugged and left to return to the kitchen. No thanks to him, McCoy thought as he looked at Spock who was playing a song McCoy did not recognize. As he listened, McCoy found himself switching from watching Spock’s fingers to looking at Spock’s face as if he had to take in every feature should he not see him again.

When the last of the customers left and the front door was locked, McCoy stretched his arms above his head and gave a quiet yawn. His work may have been hectic at times, but he could handle it. Plus, he really enjoyed his job despite the occasional drunken rambling he had to deal with. McCoy picked up an extra crate of glasses to bring back to the kitchen when he noticed that the piano was still being played. 

He looked over to see Mr. Spock still pressing away at the keys as if there was a full audience around to hear him. McCoy set the crate down and navigated his way through the maze of large rounded tables that stood between the bar and the small stage. “Mr. Spock,” he called as he approached. “We’re closing up now, so you can stop playing.” As if on cue, Spock finished the song he was playing and stood from the piano, shutting the polished white guard that protected the piano keys.

“Well, Mr. Spock,” Pike began and he approached the two. “I think that you gave an excellent performance today, and I believe I’m correct when I say that everyone else would agree with me.” Pike looked to McCoy, waiting for a response.

“O-Oh. Yeah. I think he did fine,” McCoy said as he went off of the small stage and headed toward Pike, avoiding eye contact with Spock.

“Fine? He played amazingly today!” Kirk cheered as he, Chapel, and Uhura approached the group. “I think Mr. Spock is a perfect fit for the job.” The two waitresses nodded in agreement.

“Alright, then. Seeing how much everyone seems to enjoy your playing, Mr. Spock, and seeing how well you did today, I’d say you got the job.”

Kirk, Uhura, and Chapel smiled widely as they cheered for the Vulcan. McCoy clapped half-heartedly along with them. Perhaps Spock was not as much of a pain as McCoy had made him out to be. Now that Spock had gotten the job, they’d have to get along, at least while in the workplace. As everyone present approached Spock and congratulated him, McCoy walked up to his bar, took the rack of glasses, and brought them to the kitchen. From there he dropped the glasses off at the dish-washing station and walked into the office to get changed.

After he was fully dressed in his normal clothing that consisted of a dark t-shirt, jacket, and jeans, there was a knock on the door. He unlocked it and saw Spock standing there, most likely wanting to change back into his clothes as well. McCoy let him in as he grabbed his bag from the coat rack and headed for the door.

“Is there anything additional I will require before I begin my next shift?” Spock asked before McCoy could leave.

McCoy paused, looking over to the tall Vulcan who now stood beside him, across from the door. “You’ll need black non-slip shoes, a bag to bring your uniform and things in, and that should be about it.” Spock replied with a nod and moved towards where his clothes were hanging up. McCoy hesitated for a second and then walked over to Spock, sticking his hand out. “Look, I’ve gave you a bit of a hard time today, so here.”

Spock paused. “Vulcans do not sh-”

“Well, we’re not on Vulcan, are we?”

“I must mention that-”

“Look, we’re on Earth, and it’s a sign of peace here, so accept it.”

Spock hesitated before shaking McCoy’s hand with his own.

“There. Now we’re at peace.” McCoy nodded awkwardly to Spock and moved to leave the room. “See ya’ tomorrow.”

“Mind if I hitch a ride with you?” M’Benga asked, catching McCoy just as he exited the office.

“Sure,” McCoy said, motioning for his friend to follow him. “Lose your car or somethin’?”

“Nah, just decided that today seemed like a good day for a 14-mile wall,” M’Benga joked. “But seriously, my car’s having trouble right now. I’m going to get it fixed in a few weeks, once this first paycheck comes through.”

“I see. Well, I guess I can give you a ride until then.” McCoy took an immediate right after exiting the restaurant and walked to his dark blue Swinderskin 500, a hovercar that seated four people. It may have been twenty years old, but it still worked like a beauty.

“So, what was going on in the office?” M’Benga inquired as they slipped into the hovercar.

“What do you mean?”

“I overheard something about Vulcans and Peace?”

“Oh. I kinda acted like a jerk to Spock today, so I made a peace offering or something.”

“A peace offering?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. I offered him a handshake to say that I was sorry for being a jerk.”

M’Benga froze mid-step. “Wait a minute. You shook hands with Spock, who’s a Vulcan?”

“Yeah? What of it?”

The palms of M’Benga’s hands met his forehead with an audible slap. “The hands are a Vulcan’s erogenous zone. So in Vulcan, you basically just kissed him.”

McCoy blinked. “Please tell me you’re kidding, was all he could manage to say at the news. Had he really just kissed Spock in Vulcan?

“I’m a xenobiologist, Leonard. I know what I’m talking about.”

McCoy flushed a little at the thought that the had just kissed Spock. He knew today was going to be a bad day, and that proved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *UMMSC- Univeristy of Miami: Miller School of Medicine  
> **UCSF- University of California: San Fransisco
> 
> So, this is the first chapter in a series I've been thinking about writing for awhile. I had a few people look over it, however, if there are mistakes please do not feel shy about pointing them out. Constructive criticism is important! Thank you for your time, and I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter of "Pianoman"!
> 
> EDIT: I now have a Beta for Pianoman! Thank you very much, Kim, and I'm excited to work with you! Chapter one and two have been posted and updated, and chapter 3 is coming soon! With work and everything going on over here, I thank you for your patience!


	2. Finger Burns

McCoy shouldn’t be flustered in this situation, he really shouldn’t. He should be mad that he wasn't stopped before it happened, but he wasn't stopped and it did happen. Well, how was he supposed to know that Vulcans kissed with their fingers? He's a human doctor, not an alien one, dammit. 

“Are you now aware of your status with me?” Spock spoke up from behind McCoy.

McCoy jumped at his voice and spun around. Spock was standing on the other side of the counter, looking back at him. 

Did he know what McCoy was thinking about? That McCoy now knew the Vulcan meaning behind their seemingly harmless handshake, and was more than just a bit flustered by it? 

But these thoughts quickly dissipated because as he spun, his elbow knocked into a bottle of a very fine wine on the nearby counter. He flung a quick hand out to it, only for it to just barely slip out of his fingers. Luckily enough, Spock was there to grab the bottle before it fully slid from McCoy’s grasp. McCoy however would have been more grateful if Spock had not done so by brushing his fingers against his own. 

McCoy’s face immediately flared up, though he tried to force it down before it became apparent. He took the bottle from their grip and mumbled a thanks, moving his eyes to focus on re-corking the bottle and putting it away. “Now, what were you saying earlier?” McCoy asked, sincerely hoping that it was about something other than their hand touch earlier.

“I was inquiring as to whether or not you knew that Pike had appointed you to be my trainer in this occupation.” Spock stated simply.

What? His trainer? “Wait, Pike said that I’m training you?” McCoy asked, confused. He wish Pike would have talked to him first.

“Indeed. He said you accepted the offer this morning.”

This morning? Wha-wait. That’s right. Pike did call him this morning about something. Honestly, he just wanted Pike to hang up so he could go back to sleep, meaning he might have agreed to whatever was asked. McCoy brought his hand to his face and sighed, exasperated. "Yeah, that's right. I'll be training you." McCoy moved his hand from his face and motioned Spock to follow him to the kitchen. At that instant, Chapel exited through one of the double doors, nearly bumping into McCoy. “Oh, Chris, perfect timing. Do you mind covering for me for a few? Pike has got me training Spock.” 

It seemed to take Chapel a moment to process this, a hint of confusion across her features.  
“Wait, you’re training Spock?” She inquired, shooting McCoy a skeptical look. 

He sighed. “Yeah, Pike wants me doing it. I think he enjoys slave driving me a bit too much.”  
A small smile tugged at Chapel’s lips. “I could do it, if you like.” 

Contemplating the offer for a moment, McCoy spoke up, his voice low “I would if I could, Chris, but I already accepted this morning.” He glanced at Spock, who raised a leery eyebrow at the two. “Next time, though, feel free to step in.”

McCoy watched Chapel move to the bar, a slight despondency noted on her face, before passing through the double doors with Spock in tow.

“So, you’re probably confused as to why a pianist needs to be trained in the duties of the other jobs, right?”

“Seeing how little staff this establishment has,” Spock began, following McCoy. “I have deduced that, if such a situation arose in which the restaurant is overbooked, all available employees should have the basic knowledge of each station in order to assist and thus be more productive towards their goal of the satisfaction of the customers in a timely manner.”

McCoy only caught half of what Spock was saying, but heard enough to understand what he meant. “Uh, yeah. Basically help out so we can get the customers in and out faster.”

Spock quirked his head to the side. “Is that not what I just stated?”

McCoy rolled his eyes.“Yes, Spock, it was. I was just simplifying it.” McCoy got to the end of the nook that served as the waiter’s area for non-alcoholic drinks, bread, utensils and serving trays. “Okay, first off, how are you at cooking?”

Spock looked at McCoy, his eyebrow raised. “While I have adequate skills in using Vulcan cooking utensils and cooking Vulcan food, my terran culinary knowledge and skill is limited.”

Bringing his hand to grasp his chin in thought, McCoy grumbled. “Right, right. And your people skills leave much to be desired as well...” With a snap of his fingers, McCoy had it. “Alright, you’ll be a waiter’s assistant. Ya know, helping to bring out trays of food and the like. Until you either gain more people skills, or learn how to cook with Terran utensils and food.” McCoy grabbed one of the rounded trays and placed a large cloth over it, putting six small baskets of bread on top of that. “Okay, so I doubt you’ve ever carried a tray of food before, right?”

“I have not.” Spock assured.

“Alright, it’s easy. You space out the weight of each plate and place your hand in the center of that weight.” McCoy demonstrated. “If it is too heavy for one hand, then rest one side of the tray on your shoulder and then move your hand towards the farther end of the tray to balance the weight. 

"Simple.” McCoy looked to Spock, who appeared to have understood perfectly. “Alright, now it’s your turn.” 

“I needn’t practice, as the concept is simple enough-”

“Nonsense.” McCoy protested, dropping the tray from his shoulder and setting it down on the table beside him. “It’s only logical to try it at least once before you actually have to carry them.” 

Hesitant, Spock very easily walked to the counter opposite him and picked up the tray, carrying it with his one hand.

“Alright, now place some of the weight on your shoulder.” 

Spock did so in a single fluid movement, his hand moving out to adjust to the weight. Though McCoy would never admit it, he actually enjoyed teaching Spock. The man learned fast and hey, he got to order the Vulcan around.

“Alright, everything’s good except for your hand.” McCoy informed, moving to adjust Spock’s hand. He held of the far end of the tray and took Spock’s wrist, pressing his hand flat against the bottom of the tray. “Your hand needs to be as flat as possible so have have more control over the tray. If your fingers are pointed up, the tray is more easily tipped over. Got it?” McCoy looked to Spock, who gave him a nod, saying he understood. McCoy then realized that he was still pressing Spock’s hand against the tray, and immediately let go, the tray staying perfectly balanced. “There, you see?” He stated perhaps a bit too quickly. “Uh, either Chris or Uhura will teach you anything I miss, but that’s about it for now.” McCoy helped Spock set the tray down and placed all the bread baskets back to where they were originally before turning and going out the door to his bar. 

Well, crap. He had touched Spock’s hand for the second time in under five minutes. If this happened any more, then he would swear fate is against him today. “McCoy!” Pike called out, waving McCoy over to the front desk of the restaurant. He walked over swiftly, noticing the old box that was behind Pike’s feet. 

“Yes?” 

“I have a box of sheet music for Spock- pieces I want him to try. Could you tell Spock and bring them to the office for me?” Pike lifted the age-old box off of the ground and handed it to McCoy, who took it by its handles. Though it was filled to the brim with paper, it actually wasn’t too heavy.  
“You’re going to have him try all of these pieces?” There had to be at least ten separate musical pieces on the top of the box alone.

“I thought he would like a look at some antique music, but I’m not going to force him to play all of these. Regardless of what you think, I’m not a slave driver.” Pike defended against McCoy’s look of disbelief.

McCoy huffed a bit before turning around and going back to the office, placing the box near Spock’s things. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re not a slave driver.” McCoy muttered sarcastically, recalling all the times Pike had been more than a little similar to one at work. It was never anything McCoy really minded, however. This was a job, not a joyride. 

“Is that box for me?” Spock’s voice suddenly spoke from behind McCoy.

“Holy-!” McCoy shouted, visibly jumping and spinning around to see Spock standing a mere few feet behind him. He let out an exasperated breath and stood up straight when he realized that it was just Spock. He shot the Vulcan a glare as he spoke. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I was unaware that I was ‘sneaking’.” Spock commented with a single raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, well either you were or you Vulcans are very light on your feet.” McCoy huffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, what do you want?”

“I was informed by Pike that you had something to give to me.” 

“Oh, yeah.” McCoy mumbled. 

He shrugged. “Whatever works for you.” That certainly worked for McCoy. 

Besides, he was beginning to miss his bar.

“Ah, McCoy! Do ya’ mind if I bother ya’ for a moment?” Scotty called out as he held a frying pan full of food in each hand. “I need a wee bit of help, if you can.”

“Sure, Scotty. What can I do you for?” He could worry about Spock later. Right now some delicious food needed his help. 

“Kinya’ pour that pot of Plomeek soup into the four bowls over there?” Scotty gestured to the silver pot on the stove beside the one he was working on and the four bowls beside that. “But be careful, it’s still very hot.”

“No problem.” McCoy hurriedly walked over and did as he was asked, serving the same amount of soup into each bowl. It was a good thing he had learned how to serve the food. He had a little experience with cooking, making various meals for Joanna and himself over the years, but even then it was nothing as fancy as what they served in the restaurant. Making the food here took real skill. He truly admired Scotty for being as skilled as he was, and most of the time doing all the cooking alone. If they got really busy, then Sulu would come back here and help cook as well. They were really the only two cooks around here. Besides Pike, who had the skills and knowledge to do every position at the restaurant. 

“Scotty! I got another six orders of the Filet Mingon! On the double!” Kirk shouted from the window that separated the waiter’s nook from the kitchen.

“Six orders! I’m already giving it all I’ve got, Kirk!” Scotty exclaimed, half in jest. Sure, it was busy, and Scotty was already knee-deep in orders, but McCoy knew the Scotsman loved every second of it.

McCoy wiped the edge of the dishes, like he was trained to to keep them looking professionally done, and added the small Su’kat leaves that completed the soup. One... Two.. Three.. That was all that was on the counter. He needed one more. They should be in the walk-in fridge, right? McCoy placed the three completed bowls onto the serving tray, the liquid nearly spilling over the edge of the bowls. Crap. He had filled the bowls too much, but there was no time to fix that now. He rushed back to the fridge and grabbed a Su’Kat leaf from their bag on the far rack before swiftly returning to where the bowls were. Well, not anymore.. The tray carrying the three bowls was gone, leaving the last bowl for McCoy to complete. “Where is the tray?” McCoy asked, searching the counters around him. 

“Ah, Chapel just came an’ picked it up. Why?” Scotty asked as he skillfully moved the contents of both of his frying pans onto four separate plates. 

“She forgot one. Good thing it was the unfinished one, though.” McCoy stated, adding the final touch to the last bowl. “There, it’s ready now.” He grinned, proud at his work. Well, technically it was Scotty’s work, but he put the leaf on. That counted for something, right?

“In Plomeek soup, the leaf faces upwards so that the stem’s flavor slowly invigorates itself into the dish.” 

“Huh. Guess I better flip it over th-” McCoy looked up over his shoulder to see Spock standing there. McCoy nearly jumped out of his skin. Again. “Do you know how to not sneak up on people?” McCoy added, letting out a short breath. If he was not in better health then Spock would surely scare him to death one of these days. 

“I assure you, my footfalls are just as loud as yours.” Spock rebutted. 

“Yeah, whatever.” McCoy said as he carefully scooped the leaf out and corrected its position. Even as he did so, he could practically feel Spock over his shoulder, watching his movements. His heart began to race again. “You’d better get back to work, Mr. Spock. Go off to your piano or something.”  
A moment of silence. “Very well.”

Well, crap. McCoy didn’t mean to sound like a jerk. He turned as Spock was leaving and began to apologize. “Hey-”

“Scotty!” Chapel exclaimed as she entered back into the kitchen, empty tray in hand. “Is that last soup ready yet?” 

“I’ve got it over here.” McCoy spoke as he motioned her over. Almost as if she moving at warp speed, Chapel practically ran past Spock and over to McCoy. As soon as her eyes located the dish, she grabbed a hot pad and scooped the bowl onto her tray so quickly that she nearly spilled its contents. “Careful, Chris! You’ll burn yourself if you move too quickly.”

“When the pain-in-my-side customer who is receiving this stops rushing me, I’ll slow down.” She commented, no real venom in her voice. Chapel had been working directly with people for a long time, so she knew how to handle them. Doesn’t mean she didn’t gripe about them now and then, though. They’ve all had their share of gripes about certain customers. McCoy and Chapel especially, since they worked the bar and had to deal with drunk people every night. As soon as the bowl was all set on her tray, Chapel made a beeline for the nook that lead to the dining room. The only problem was that there was an obstacle in her way that she had been going to fast to avoid. A living obstacle named Spock. 

“Hey, look out!” McCoy exclaimed as he watched the two figures collide and fall back to the ground. Both he and Scotty rushed over as quick as a phaser shot and helped the two of them up. “Chris! Spock! Are you two alright?” 

Chapel rubbed her hip with one hand as McCoy helped her back to her feet. “Yeah, I’m alright.” She looked over and saw Spock before her, standing up on his own. “Mr. Spock! Are you alright?” She exclaimed, genuine worry in her voice. 

“I am well.” Spock stated, producing a slight flinch from his left arm as he stood.

“Spock, your arm!” McCoy exclaimed, looking at Spock’s left uniform sleeve that was now drenched in burning hot Plomeek soup. McCoy moved towards him and reached out to touch Spock’s arm.  
Spock pulled his arm away before McCoy could touch it. “I am perfectly fine tending to it myself.”  
McCoy frowned and felt a bubble of anger pop up in his throat. “Look here, Spock! I’m a doctor, and if I say i’m going to look at your arm, you better well let me do so!” He wasn’t going through med school to back down when someone was hurt right in front of him, and simply because they thought they could handle it themselves. 

McCoy did not wait for a response and instead dragged Spock by his other arm over to the closest sink, letting the faucet run until the water was ice cold again. McCoy quickly unbuttoned Spock’s drenched sleeve, the soup still warm to McCoy’s fingertips even when soaked into the material. He very carefully pushed the loose sleeve up over Spock’s upper arm, where the Vulcan had not been burned, and pulled the burn itself under the small flow of chilled water. He could physically see Spock shiver at the sudden cold overlapping the burn, but said nothing. How Spock had remained silent through the pain so far was a mystery to McCoy. “Alright, keep your arm under the water. Be sure to cover the whole burn. I’ll going to grab the first aid kit.” He spoke calmly and clearly before rushing to get the kit that hung outside the office. 

Opening up the large white box, he shuffled through it in a search for the gauze and a large bandage cloth. Of course it was under the million packs of band-aids they had. Small cuts happened all too often in this restaurant-in any restaurant, really. Especially when you’re around knives and glass and other sharp objects all day. He picked up a pair of rubber gloves that were in the box and slid them on. With a slight grin of success, McCoy grabbed the large wad of gauze and cloth and brought it, along with the whole first aid kit just in case, over to where Spock was. 

He set it down on the counter beside the sink and touched Spock’s arm again, checking the wound as it was washed over with the cold water. That’s good, the swelling seemed to be going down. Another five or ten minutes and Spock could take his arm out, and, after it dried, McCoy could bandage it up and wrap it with gauze. Luckily this was not that bad of a burn that they needed to get him to a hospital immediately. This bandage should last for a few days, though it would be better to get it checked before the bandage wore out.

McCoy watched Spock’s arm carefully as he slipped into his own thoughts. If Chris hadn’t been in such a hurry, then she wouldn’t have hit Spock. Then again, if he hadn’t told Spock to go away, this wouldn’t have happened either. Also, if he hadn’t forgotten the last leaf for the soup, Chris wouldn’t have had to go back for the bowl. Well, crap. McCoy could feel a wave of guilt wash over him as he saw the swelling decrease even more on Spock’s arm. Well, at least it was healing alright so far. He gently moved his gloved hands around Spock’s wound, attempting to see how far the burn extended from the visible wound. Not too far, which was good. If Spock went to the hospital right after work, it should not leave too much of a scar. At least with the skin tissue replicator, it shouldn’t. McCoy moved his hands down towards Spock’s hand, feeling around the palm and wrist. The burn did not seem to reach there, thankfully. It stopped just before it covered his wrist, thankfully. 

“I believe I am alright now-” Spock spoke up, attempting to pull his arm away.

McCoy held onto Spock’s hand, avoiding the burn but still being able to hold Spock’s arm in place. “I’ll tell you when you are alright, Spock.” McCoy stated, his voice firm and his expression highly concentrated on Spock’s wound. “Until then just shut up and cooperate.” McCoy was not expecting it, but Spock did as he asked. 

A few more minutes passed until McCoy deemed Spock’s burn safe to be taken out from under the cold wash of water. By then, Spock’s whole lower arm was cold. Much too cold for a Vulcan. This would not have been comfortable in the slightest, but it was something Spock had to deal with. A couple of minutes later, Spock’s arm dried so McCoy was able to take the burn ointment they had and spread it over the wound carefully, apologizing the few times he accidentally pressed too hard. He carefully placed the cloth bandage over it and it successfully remained in place. Now McCoy could wrap the wound. Taking up the gauze he had set out, McCoy separated the end of the strip from the wad with a loud RIP. He set to work on wrapping the wound, and in a mere two minutes it was carefully and safely wrapped up. He cut the end of the gauze off with scissors and tucked it under a loose flap. McCoy had learned to wrap burns loosely so that they were protected, but does not place an added pressure on the burned skin. “There. You should be fine for a while now.” McCoy said, keeping his eyes on the bandage.

“How long will this bandage hold for?” Spock inquired, looking the bandage over, almost touching it with his other hand. 

“Don’t touch it!” McCoy stopped Spock’s hand with his own, letting it go a moment later. “Uh- it should hold for a day or two, but you should go to a hospital and get it properly checked out ASAP.”

“ASAP?” Spock quirked an eyebrow up at the curious phrase.

“Yeah, it stands for 'As soon as possible'. Got that?” McCoy grumbled. “So go talk to Pike and go to the hospital.”

“I will not.”

“What?” Was McCoy hearing Spock right? 

“I do not intend to go to the hospital. You said it yourself; the bandage should last for more than six hours. I intend to resume my job here as the pianist until my shift is over.”

“Are you kidding me?” McCoy practically shouted. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Would it aggravate the wound, which is on my lower arm and not my hand or wrist, if I played the piano?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Then I intend to resume my post.” 

“Like h*ll you are!” Spock and McCoy stared at one another in silence, neither one letting up or looking away. Spock was not going to back down, and he doubted McCoy would with the situation at current.

“Perhaps a compromise, then. I will go to the hospital immediately after my shift is over. Will that suffice?” Spock bartered.

Silence stretched on as McCoy thought. What should he do? Yes, Spock needed to get to a hospital, but his wound would also be okay for the few hours until his shift ends. Heck, he did a well enough job that Spock should be all set, save for the skin regeneration to avoid scarring. Sure, he was a doctor, but most burns did not need a hospital trip, if taken care of properly. And McCoy took care of the wound the best he could (with the supplies they had). So why was he pushing this so much?  


“Fine. As long as Pike clears you.”

“Very well.” Spock nodded, turning to go see Pike as he pulled his drenched sleeve down over the bandage.

“Hold up.” McCoy stopped him. “You can’t go out there with a uniform covered in Plomeek soup. Follow me.” McCoy motioned to Spock as they walked over to the office. McCoy shuffled through the back few boxes and found another uniform-the same size he had given Spock the day before. “Here.” He said as he handed him the new uniform and began to walk away, still avoiding eye contact. 

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock began, stopping McCoy on his way out.

Doctor? He hadn’t been referred to as “Doctor McCoy” before. Though, he supposed he was not yet a doctor, so it was not necessarily a true title. Still, he liked it. Especially hearing it from Spock. “Yes, Spock?”

“You have my thanks for treating my injury.”

“Well, it’s my moral obligation or something like that. Couldn’t just leave ya’ to wrap yourself up, now could I?” 

“I assume not. I also wished to state that you have no need feeling guilty for this incident. You were not the cause of it. It was my own ineptitude that did so.”

Guilty? How could Spock have known he was feeling guilty about it? Perhaps he had made it more obvious than he assumed. While Spock may have been right about McCoy not having to blame himself, Spock should not be blaming his own self for this. It didn’t matter whose fault it was; what mattered was that Spock’s arm was alright and should fully heal. “Look, Spock. It’s over and done with and you’re okay, so there’s no use blaming anyone. Especially yourself.” McCoy rubbed the back of his head in thought and turned around, facing Spock. “I’ll go talk to Pike for you, so go ahead and change and I’ll let you know what he says.” When Spock nodded, McCoy shut the office door behind him as he exited. McCoy let out a tired sigh. It was too early in his shift for things to go badly. The world had to wait until at least nine o’clock. He thought they had an agreement.

“Is Mr. Spock alright?” A worried voice spoke from the other side of the kitchen. It was Chapel, her eyes threatening unfallen tears. No matter how strong Chapel was around customers, McCoy knew that she really was a softie. Everyone here was, really. Except Pike, that cold-hearted slave driver.  


“He’s fine, Chris.” McCoy said as he walked up to her, smiling. “Just a minor burn. He’s going to stay for the remainder of his shift and then get it checked out further.” McCoy placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, we’re both in Med school, right? M’Benga too. With the three of us here, Spock and everyone will be just fine. I’ll make sure of that.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt more obligated to keep a doctor’s eye on everyone-especially Spock. Better safe than sorry, he supposed. Chapel blinked away her tears and cracked a smile. She was going to get a talking to later on from either Pike, Kirk, or himself, but for now this should be sufficient. 

“His first full day on the job and he’s injured already?” Pike said as he entered the kitchen from the waiter’s nook. “Looks like our Mr. Spock isn’t having the best of luck.”

Chapel looked up. “Well, Sir, it was I who-” 

“Whatever happened can be dealt with later. Chapel, I need you to return to the dining room and pick your orders back up from Uhura. Our rush hour is starting, and I’m going to need everyone at their posts.” Pike ordered, Chapel replying with a solemn nod before leaving the kitchen. He turned to McCoy and gave a small smirk. “So, I heard that you took care of our Mr. Spock’s wound?”

Why did Pike keep referring to that Vulcan as “our Mr. Spock”? It was only his first full day-not like he was a part of their “family” already or something. “Yeah, I did. He should be fine. He wants to stay for the remainder of his shift before getting his arm checked out.”

“Glad to hear it!” Pike exclaimed, making McCoy jump at the sudden exclamation. “I do need to talk with him though. Where is he?”

Wait, what? “You mean that Spock got burnt and you’re just going to let him go back to work just like that?” McCoy felt his blood begin to boil a bit. Pike didn’t even know how big the burn was or that McCoy had to wrap the entirety of Spock’s lower arm. 

“Don’t make it sound so simple.” He looked to McCoy. “Three things are at work here. First, Spock feels that he can perform his work the rest of his shift, and I trust that judgement. Second, he’s a Vulcan, and not only are they extremely pain tolerant, but sturdy as well, meaning he’s not as much a crybaby as you and I know Kirk is. Third, it was you who patched him up, right? I’m very much aware of your skills, and if you patched him up, then I’d practically say that he’s good to go. Unless you think that he would be in danger performing for the rest of the shift.”

Well, sure, Spock may want to return to his shift, but that doesn’t mean he should. He also may be a Vulcan and all, but that does not mean that he doesn’t feel pain, or doesn’t need to heal like humans do. Well, of course it was him who patched-What? Was Pike complimenting him? “Well, he wouldn’t be in any danger, really...” McCoy mumbled, knowing that Spock was going to be fine. He couldn’t help worrying, though.

“Then it’s settled. He’ll stay for the rest of his shift.” Pike looked over at McCoy’s now despondent expression. “Alright, alright. If I think that he’s in pain or his wound is affecting his performance, then I’ll send him home early. Deal?” Pike wasn’t usually one to make deals with his employees, but he was also not one to pull rank either, unless the situation called for it. Pike and McCoy were actually pretty close friends, though it didn’t really show at work. It felt odd for McCoy to have Pike, his friend, as his boss. That’s mostly why he clashed with Pike so often.

“Fine.” McCoy hesitated. It was the best situation both Spock and he were going to get, really. He sure worried about his patients a lot-perhaps too much at times. Though he felt he was within reason to argue as he did. “Oh, he’s in the office changing into a dry uniform. Though he should be done by now.”

McCoy watched as Pike, with a nod, walked over to the office and knocked. Spock answered the door a few moments later, fully clad in the dry uniform. McCoy could hear mumblings of Pike explaining the situation as McCoy had told him, which was quickly followed by Spock agreeing to work the remainder of the shift. McCoy heard mention of some accident paperwork that had to be filled out before Spock went back to work, and the two men went into the office. But not before McCoy’s eyes met Spock, prompting a curiously raised eyebrow from the Vulcan. 

That made McCoy snap out of his thoughts and turn around, headed straight through the nook to his bar, or, as he called it, his home away from home. Now, if he was lucky, he could spend the rest of his shift in peace, dealing with drunk customers and serving up drinks. That’s as peaceful as his work got at their rush hour.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Around ten minutes into his work, McCoy saw Spock pass by, bandage mostly hidden by his buttoned-up sleeves, and walk over to the piano. If Spock wanted to play for the rest of the evening, then McCoy would have to let him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t keep a close eye on the Vulcan, though. A very close eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see you are on chapter two! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the long times in between chapters, but my work is crazy busy lately, and 12 hours is the normal length of my shifts, so more time is needed. Chapter three is in the process, and I hope to have it up sooner rather than later! Thank you for reading thus far! All reviews and constructive criticism are welcome!


	3. Harmonic Spices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I was looking through my old fanfic and found that I had actually completed this chapter but never posted it. As of right now I -don't intend to continue it-, but I felt that I should at least post this chapter for those who loved and supported this fanfic. I really, really, do appreciate all the love and support I've gotten for this fic, and I can't express how happy I am that it was loved! Thank you all so much!)

“Thanks for the help, Spock. I think I’ve got it from here,” Uhura said, taking the small dish tub from Spock and placing it on the table beside her. “Great job helping serve today, by the way. I heard McCoy trained you just yesterday.” She grinned up at Spock. “You’re quite the fast learner.”

Spock nodded his thanks as his eyes momentarily flicked to the bar, where McCoy was hard at work putting his shot glasses away. “Indeed. The doctor’s training was quite helpful.”

“Well, I’m glad we set you up with him, then. You two seem to get along well.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at her assumption, but said nothing before returning to the piano.

“Now to just get this last bit done, and I’m home free,” she sighed. In all honesty, bussing the tables, especially after large parties, was probably the least anticipated part of her job. It wasn’t the grossness of the task, because she had gotten over that the day she started like everyone else, but rather that she had to play hide and seek with multiple dishes. Every night without fail, she always found a glass that somehow rolled under a table and spilled its contents on the carpet, or a stray fork that was inexplicably in one of the potted plants. One she even found a mug hanging by it’s handle on the coat rack. She was beginning to think that someone, namely _Sulu_ , was messing with her.

Uhura eyed Sulu, who was at the front of the restaurant, busy at work with collecting and organizing the menus as he idly chatted with a certain Russian boy. Chekov was busy grabbing up the last of the napkins from the front and placing them in the linen basket to be washed. Their conversation broke as he headed over towards the tables and began to collect the tablecloths, meaning Uhura had to quickly finish up before Chekov reached her area.

Hurriedly grabbing all the dishes from the few surrounding tables and placing them in the tub, Uhura hefted the tub up to her side, letting it partially rest on her hip. Carefully, she moved towards the kitchen doors, picking up a few straggling pieces of silverware before entering the waiter’s nook. She moved around the corner into the kitchen and straight to the sinks in the back.

“Keeping busy, Monty?” she inquired, setting the tub of dishes on the counter beside him.

“Ah, as busy as I’ll ever be. But, if anything, at least I have your beauty here to keep my spirits from failin’.” He grinned at her.

She couldn’t help but smile as she helped load dishes into large perforated trays. “Now, now, Mr. Scott. Flattery gets you nowhere.”

“But lass, you’ve already taken my heart, if I could only have yours.” He brought his wet hands up to his chest, soaking the top of his apron.

“You say that as if we haven’t been together for nearly a year now.” She teased, passing the full tray of dishes to Scotty, who rinsed them before feeding the tray into the dishwashing machine.

“With you, lass, every day feels like a new one.”

Uhura chuckled, flushing lightly. “You have to tell me where you get these lines, Scotty. Maybe you could teach them to Kirk.”

“Those happen to have been passed down in my family for generations.”

“Right, of course, Monty.” She shook her head with a grin. “Well, be sure to save some for after we’re off. We still have that date, don’t you forget.”

“Aye, stargazing in the park. I found the perfect spot.” He winked.

“And I found the perfect drinks,” She added, motioning to a small cooler by the office doors. “It’s a good thing we’re both hopeless romantics.”

“Aye, you know how to woo me as much as I do you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. See you after, then?”

“I’ll be outside waiting for ya’.”

Scotty blew a kiss to her which she happily reciprocated before she walked back into the dining room.

Passing through the doors, she nearly bumped into Chris, who was exiting the bar. “Oh, sorry, dear.” She looked down to Chris’ wrist, which was being held by her opposite hand. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Just a sore wrist, is all.” Chapel gently rolled her wrist as she moved to one of the tables and started to gently fold the tablecloths. Uhura followed suit. “Too much stress on it tonight, is all.”

“Not hard to believe, with the night we’ve had. Big parties are always busy, especially 75th anniversaries.”

“Well, when you’re married for that long, you’re bound to have a lot of relatives. We could barely seat everyone.” Christine motioned to the stacks of extra chairs they had brought in for the party.

“Yeah, but think of the tips we made tonight! I haven’t even finished counting them all yet.”

“True. I haven’t checked the ones from the bar yet.” Chapel looked over to the bar, where McCoy was carefully putting his stock and glasses away. He seemed more irritable than he was during the party, but Christine knew his “upbeat” personality was mostly an act. After all, she did the same thing, to a somewhat lesser extent.

“And since you worked the tables and the bar tonight, you get to split both.” Uhura sighed. “I don’t like double duty, but I do envy your tips.”

“And I envy your intact wrists,” she joked before letting out a sigh, “I think I’ll have to skip practice tonight.”

“That’s probably for the best. It’s too bad you can’t bring it in to play here. You really have such a talent with it.”

“I could bring it in, but I don’t think I could play it,” Christine looked over to the stage. “At least in front of the customers.”

“Is that so? Such a pity. You could have played with Mr. Spock, you know,” Uhura hummed, nudging Chris with her elbow and eyes shining with playfulness.

“Oh, come on, Nyota. That would never hap-”

“It sounds like a good idea to me.” Pike spoke as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He grinned, approaching them and picking up a few tablecloths to help fold. “After all, the piano and the harp play beautifully together.”

“Well...” Chapel began, staring down at the folded tablecloth in her hands. “They are used as companions in some pieces, however-”

“They are magnificent together, sir,” Uhura interrupted.

Pike nodded. “How does that sound, Chapel? Would you like to perform with Spock, say... wednesday night?”

“I’m not...” Chapel began. “I think someone else would be better. After all, I’ve never accompanied a piano before.”

“Hmm...” Pike contemplated the issue. “How about you can practice with Spock a bit before, then? And we could do the audition then too, if you don’t mind coming a bit earlier.”

“I’m not very good with performing in front of crowds,” Chapel stated. Feeling another nudge in her side, she continued, “but if it’s only the staff...” Chapel was silent for a moment. The thought of being able to perform side-by-side with Spock made her stomach churn and her cheeks flush red.

Uhura pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “C’mon, where are you going to get another chance like this? And with Mr. Spock as well! Don’t pass this up! You’ll surely regret it. And if you take this chance, you might get to play with him _regularly_!”

Hesitantly, Chapel nodded and turned to Pike. “Well, alright. I’ll bring my harp tomorrow then, for practice? An hour before we clock in?”

“Yes, that sounds good. I’ll be sure to compensate you for your time, of course.” Pike grinned. “Do you need help getting your harp here?”

“I can assist her with it, sir,” Uhura spoke up, wrapping one arm around Chris’ shoulders and jostling her slightly, her smile widening. “No need to worry.”

“I’ll inform the rest of the staff of the audition on wednesday, if they are able to make it. Thank you, ladies.” Pike nodded his thanks before moving to talk to a certain Vulcan who was elbow-deep in cleaning the piano.

“What exactly have I let you get me into?” Chris sighed, shaking her head, but unable to stop smiling at her friend.

“Well,” Uhura looked over to where a certain bartender was tenderly putting away bottles of alcohol. “Something interesting, at least.”

* * *

"Have any plans tonight?” Inquired a carefully smooth voice as it slid up to the counter.

“Sleep,” McCoy grunted, locking the lower cupboards full of alcohol before standing up and facing the man. “And plenty of it. Why?”

Kirk smiled. “I was hoping to finally fix that chair for you.”

“What chair?” McCoy asked, taking off his waist apron and leaning forward on the counter, fumbling through its pockets. “Wait, you mean the one you broke _two years ago_?”

“That’s the one,” Kirk said, flicking a finger in McCoy’s direction.

The bartender peered over at the clock. “Tonight? At midnight?’ McCoy placed a fist on his hip and shot Jim an unconvinced look. “That’s fine with me, but mind telling me what you’re really up to?”

Kirk laughed. “Why do you think I always have an ulterior motive? A loyal friend and coworker can’t come fix a chair for his friend? Especially when said loyal friend broke the chair himself?”

“Oh no, one certainly can, but not _you_ , Jim. I’ve known you for far too long to think you’re not up to something.”

Kirk brought a hand to cover his heart. “It hurts, Bones, that you would think that of me.”

“Well, I threw that chair out a long time ago, so I guess you don’t need to come over, then, do you?” McCoy shrugged, picking up his apron and notepad as he walked towards the door to the kitchen.”

“Well, there may be _one_ thing,” Kirk admitted.

McCoy stopped and let out a heavy sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Kirk shrugged. “You beginning to know me too well. I’ll have to change tactics sometime.”

“Right,” McCoy rolled his eyes as he plopped down on the stool beside Jim. “Mind skipping to the part about your evil ulterior motive?”

Kirk raised his brow at McCoy’s words. “It’s not _evil_. I just wanted to ask if I could crash for the night and hitch a ride into work tomorrow.”

“...And?”

“That’s it,” Kirk paused, waiting for a response. “Really.”

McCoy blinked. “You could have just come out and said that rather than going through all this nonsense.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

McCoy rolled his eyes as he passed through the doorway to the kitchen.

“Is that a yes?” Kirk called out after him.

“Fine, fine. Hurry up; we leave in five. I need _sleep_.”

“Will do.” Kirk grinned at the tired groan that echoed from the kitchen. Removing himself from one of the barstools, he made his way to the front of the restaurant where, hidden under stacks of menus, sat a manila folder filled with old sheet music. Kirk carefully grabbed the folder and pulled it out, thumbing through the pages one by one, looking them over. Satisfied, he moved over towards the piano, where a certain musically inclined Vulcan was closing the instrument’s lid.

“Do you have a moment, Mr. Spock?”

“Certainly.” The Vulcan carefully set the piano’s lid into place before turning to Kirk.

“How many plays does it take you to play a piece of music with satisfactory results?”

Spock’s eyes flicked down to the folder of papers in the man’s hands. “For a formal performances, ten.”

“And informal?”

Spock piqued an eyebrow at the inquiry. “Five.”

“And if I were to request you to perform this song wednesday before we open?”

“I would not be adverse to the idea,” Spock commented. “However, Mr. Pike has already given me the sheet music for the song Ms. Chapel and I are performing together.”

“I see Pike’s already informed you of the plans,” Kirk smiled, handing Spock the folder. “But no, not with Chapel.”

Spock accepted the folder, opening it to peer at the title. “With whom, then?”


	4. Deleted Scenes/Future Chapter Excerpts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I found more I had written and decided to share it also! Enjoy!)

“I mean how is she doing with Jocelyn?” Pike asked, flattening down the ripples in his uniform.

McCoy paused. “Oh, uh. Jocelyn’s doing a good job of raising her alone, but Joanna says she wants to see me more than two weekends every month. Honestly, I’m just glad that she likes me so much... but I wish I could see her more too.”

“Then go for it.” Pike stated simply. “If you want something for the right reasons, then fight for it all you can.”

McCoy blinked. “Um, it’s not that easy-”

“Of course it’s not. But anything worth fighting for isn’t, right?” Pike picked up a bright yellow handkerchief off of the desk and looked at McCoy. “Look, Leonard. You’re a good guy, and you deserve more than the situation you’re in right now. Ask anyone, and they’d agree. So, if you’re willing, I say fight.” As he spoke, Pike folded his handkerchief into a staircase fold and placed it in his shirt pocket. “Look, I’m not telling you what to do with your life. I’m just saying that as your friend, I know you deserve more.” With that last comment, Pike left the room.

He knew there was some truth to what Pike was saying. He wanted to believe it himself that he deserved it, but he couldn’t. Not when he remembered the night he and Jocelyn separated.

* * *

“He’s a lucky guy, getting someone who loves him as much as you do.” The man the voice belonged to took a swig of his glass of bourbon and let out a satisfied breath. He then met McCoy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry?” McCoy stated, confused.

The guy looked over his right shoulder at Spock, who was on the other side of the room playing the piano. “He’s your lover or something, right? The pianist?”

McCoy blinked as he felt his face heat up a bit. “What? Me and Spock? You must have had too much to drink, sir.” McCoy blurted out almost instantly.

The man turned back to McCoy with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I’ve been here for about two hours now, and you’ve been looking over there every five minutes or so with a content look on your face. How else would you explain that?”

McCoy stuttered slightly as he spoke. “W-Well it’s his first day, so I’m keeping a close eye on him to make sure he does everything right.”

“Everything right? He’s a pianist. Can’t you tell if he’s doing right just by listening?” The man argued, a slight grin on his face.

“Well, there’s more to it than that....” McCoy began, but was unsure of what to say next.

“Alright, alright. SO you’re not in a relationship.” The man said, taking another swig from his glass. “But you do fancy him.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not-”

“Son, look. I’ve been alive for almost fifty years now. I can tell when someone likes what they see.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket and took out a roll of bills. After counting out a dozen or so, he placed them on the counter and picked up his coat. “If you want to deny it, fine. It’s none of my business anyways. But if I come back a few months from now and one of you has made a move, you owe me ten bucks. Have a great night!” The man walked off towards the front of the restaurant before McCoy could get a single word in. 

He should just ignore the man’s words.  After all, most of what people said to him was just drunken babbling.

...Right?


	5. Pianoman Supplemental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (extra spones excerpt I wrote. Enjoy!!)

McCoy hadn't noticed it, but there was one song that Spock played on the piano that always lifted any foul mood he had. He could have had a verbal quarrel with a customer, or accidentally broken a glass or the like, something that aggravated his already stressful job, and the mere sound of those notes made him forget the dark storm cloud over his mind. So that is why, whenever McCoy seemed especially stressed or frustrated, Spock would play that song just for him.

"He does it for you, you know." Kirk said, leaning on the opposite side of the bar.

McCoy swatted at Kirk's hands with a cloth. "I just cleaned there. Don't go dirtying it up." McCoy turned around and resumed wiping down the sink in the back of the bar. "And who does what for me?"

"Spock." Kirk piped up with a smirk.

"He does what? Annoys me?"

Kirk couldn't help but laugh. "Well, yes, but there's something else too." Kirk paused, waiting for a guess from McCoy. When none came he rolled his eyes and spoke. "He plays that song for you."

McCoy turned to give Kirk a confused gaze. "What? What song?"

"The one that always puts you in a good mood. Beethoven's Moonlght Sonata."

"Oh." McCoy blinked and turned back to his cleaning in an attempt to hide the red on his face.

"Why does it calm you down anyways? I mean, nothing else seems to work as well as that song."

"Well, it's..."

McCoy remembered back to the first day Spock worked at the restaurant. It was after closing time, and most everyone had gone home, save for him, Spock and Pike. McCoy had left his keys at the bar, and went to retrieve them. It was then, as he walked in, that he heard a familiar song playing on the piano, being performed by none other than Spock. The restaurant was dark, save for the moonlight shining in through the windows onto the piano and Spock's face. The song was beautiful alone, but with the sight McCoy was seeing, well, it took on a whole new level of magic in his eyes.

"...It's just a nice song, is all."

**Author's Note:**

> Update 5/18/2014:
> 
> First off, Pianoman has been on hiatus for awhile, especially while I was in school(but now am out for the summer), and there are a million excuses I could put here for taking so long, but basically it's been life being busy and a bit of writer's block as far as fleshing out everything. The rest of the fic is all planned out fully, which I'm excited to have done, and it's just writing the fleshy meat of it that I'm struggling with. If you have any tips, please let me know!
> 
> Secondly, if anyone is interested, I've designed and created a complete menu for the Enterprise restaurant, as per an assignment for my design class. I've also done a business card as well! All of these will be posted on my DA(autumn-in-april) and my tumblr(Spones-in-my-bones) as soon as I'm done editing them, which should be this week! Thank you all so much for your patience and kindness for bearing with me! I love you guys!
> 
> Menu: http://autumn-in-april.deviantart.com/art/Enterprise-Menu-454821291
> 
> Business card: http://autumn-in-april.deviantart.com/art/Enterprise-Fine-Dining-454311556
> 
> Previous update info:
> 
> I have magnificent news! :"D Someone on tumblr did a cosplay of McCoy from Pianoman! I was literally flailing with excitement when I found out(I still am, to be honest), but I've saved that for tumblr. Here is the link if you want to check it out!
> 
> http://dorklordsatan.tumblr.com/post/61254219882/whoever-wrote-this-deserved-a-fucking-cosplay
> 
>  
> 
> LLAP,  
> Spones-in-my-Bones


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